A Secret and an Answer
by unnafraher
Summary: Alfred can hear the birds sing, and he is sure that they have some secret code. -Young!America and Arthur-


Um, um, so please forgive me if there is any OOC -- I've written these two before, sort of, but never together with both in truly substantial roles.

_**Disclaimer:** Don't own anything here. Otherwise that would be quite a feat...  
_

* * *

Above in the great green bowl of tree leafs, birds sit about, singing a wordless tune.

Alfred, lying on the grass with limbs spread out, is sure that there is some secret code that the birds are singing in that, because they are what they are, all countries should know. Reaching toward the shifting leaves, he reaches a tiny hand up, squints, and pretends that he can capture some kind of hint in his palm. Then he brings his catch – invisible – back to earth, centimetres from his face. He smiles and waits, because if he hopes hard enough he can feel a quiver between his tender fingers.

Behind him comes a call, and in a second the boy is up and bounding towards Arthur, his chosen charge and teacher, his caretaker.

Still under the great oak, and with edged umbras sweeping over them, Alfred embraces Arthur's waist and almost knocks the other over.

Arthur, who is not use to such affection, but who is getting better at it all the time, smiles helplessly and awkwardly pats the boy on the shoulders. When he can get the boy to let go of him he pats him on the head and squats down so they may see eye to eye.

"Hungry?" Arthur asks as he straightens Alferd's starched collar and breeches. Alfred squirms a bit in protest – the clothes really are a bit much for such a nice day, especially for a young boy.

"On this glorious day," Alfred says, stressing the word he knows Arthur likes so much, "I want some lemonade."

"Lemonade?"

And the young boy nods, smiling. "Lemonade."

"How about some tea?"

"No more jasmine!" Alfred pleads then, honest alarm showing in his eyes. He takes a step backwards and sticks out his tongue in quasi-disgust, as if he can taste the over-steeped tea once more.

"Okay, okay, lemonade," Arthur agrees as he nods. "Come on," he continues, offering his left hand, "let's go and pick lemons...Eh?"

The little boy has meanwhile walked to Arthur's other side. Holding up his hand, grinning sweetly, his other hand still clenched resolutely.

Inexorably interested and falling for what he expects is bait, Arthur withdraws his hand and turns fully to the boy and asks, "what's that, Alfred?"

Grinning even more now, wearing the grin of a spotless childhood, Alfred brings his hand to his ears and says so softly, "Can you hear it?"

Intrigued, figuring it is a bee (which alarms him a bit, because the boy could be stung), Arthur kneels into the grass and brings his ear close to the boy's hand. Some time passes, and all he can hear is breathing and birdsong.

"What is it?"

"Sssh!" Alfred whispers sharply. "It's a secret."

"What secret?" Arthur, subdued now, asks.

"The secret of what the birds are saying!" And with a surge of pride, he expects Arthur to marvel at this amazing capture of his.

But there is only silence, awkward, and then a hand on his head. Confused, the boy falls down onto the grass and pouts. The older man follows suit, sans the pout.

"So, what are we upset about?" Arthur asks after awhile.

There is another silence filled by the sweet, ageless birdsong accompanied by the whistle of the bees and the breeze. Shadows continue to shiver. Suddenly, Alfred rolls over. "But I _hear _it, Arthur! The birds have got to be singing about something!"

"Well, maybe they are. Probably, but that's not for us to know, otherwise we would!" Arthur says with a hopeful, conciliatory smile. Perhaps it is a bit perfunctory, but he really does believe that. Imagine – somethings, so many things, in his empire he simply does not understand or question.

"Who taught the birds to sing, Arthur?"

Somethings he considers superfluous, so obvious. "Their parents and their friends."

"And who taught _them _to sing?"

Other things he considers given. "Their parents and friends, and before them their parents and friends."

"But who taught the first birds to sing?" And now, piquant and determined and shining, Alfred sits up and keenly observes the other man. He expects a good answer.

And Arthur acutely feels the unique pressure of the young expectations. Sitting up himself then, without a word he reaches out for the boy and holds him close, close to his chest with the boy's soft blond head to his breast. "Do you hear that?" he murmurs.

Alfred waits and waits, tries to block out the birdsong and the wind and the bees, presses a hand to Arthur's chest and then –

A beat, two beats.

Eyes wide, he looks excitedly up at a smiling Arthur. "A heartbeat!"

And now the elder asks the questions, "and what makes a heart beat?"

Alfred thinks. Then he ponders and ruminates, and still the answer that he comes up with doesn't seem quite right – and who is Arthur to ask such a question to a child? The man has his own answer to the question, of course, and that he definitely does not expect the boy to guess. Then he has a set of responses the boy might answer with but he really doesn't expect, not ever because –

"God!" Alfred declares with apparent triumphant gleaming in his eyes. It's obvious he considers this a substantial victory, has no doubt that this is what Arthur means and wants to hear. "The one who lives in all those fancy houses, and lives in everyone's hearts, so he makes them beat!" A pause, as he connects. "And because he lives with all of the creatures, so them too!"

The subject of countries, of what and how they are, is not accounted for, but perhaps it will be one day. Arthur is silent, silent the whole time Alfred wiggles his way out of his grasp and takes a few steps towards the lemon groove.

"Now lemonade! Glorious lemonade --- please?"

"Of course," the older man says as he stands up and brushes himself off. Soon he over takes Alfred and gently takes the little boy's hand in his. "It'll be nice."


End file.
